THE IMAGE

I am a river flowing round your hill,

Holding your image in my lingering water,

With imaged white clouds rising round your head;

And I am happy to bear your image still.

Though a loud ruffling wind may break and scatter

That happiness, I know it is not fled.

But when the wind is gone or gentled so

That only the least quivering quivers on,

Your image recomposes in my breast

With those high clouds, quiet and white as snow —

Spiritual company; and when day's gone

And those white clouds have stepped into the west;

And the dark blue filling the heavens deep

Is bright with stars that sing above your head,

Their light lies in the deep of my dark eyes

With your dark shape, a shadow of your sleep...

I am happy still, watching the bright stars tread

Around your shadow that in my bosom lies.